


Act 3, Scene 1.5

by benvoliio



Category: Romeo And Juliet - Shakespeare
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-21
Updated: 2017-04-21
Packaged: 2018-10-22 08:37:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10693401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/benvoliio/pseuds/benvoliio
Summary: I recently found a fic in my icloud storage that is (i think) the first tycutio thing I ever wrote so I decided sharing it would be a good idea even though it's super old and there are too many italics lol. I also really want to redo this now because I am apparently still a sucker for angst gdisummary: tybalt, a big angry baby who can't seem to use words to express his emotions, feels really bad (emotionally) about getting all stabby. mercutio, an obnoxious but loveable jerk who is regretting a lot of life choices rn, feels really bad (physically) about getting stabbed.





	Act 3, Scene 1.5

"What, are you hurt? _Mercutio_!"

Benvolio's voice broke on his friend's name, along with Tybalt's heart. Blade clattering to the ground, Tybalt stumbled back as Mercutio sank to one knee. Their eyes met again, and Tybalt lost the ability to move, to _breathe_ , because Mercutio's expression confirmed his worst nightmares. A direct hit.

The first signs of dark blood seeping between the fingers clenched across his chest when Mercutio tried to rise broke the trance. Tybalt pushed past his followers and ran. He tore through a crowd of villagers into the tangled streets of Verona, each stride stabbing a new image into his mind- Mercutio, laughing at one of his own puns, dressed brighter than all the others at the Capulet's ball. Mercutio, his dark hair making him almost invisible at dusk as he sat outside Tybalt's window. Mercutio, imitating one of Romeo's passionate love speeches with exaggerated hand motions. Mercutio smiling. Mercutio sleeping. Mercutio, Mercutio, _Mercutio_.

Mercutio gasping, choking, drowning in his own blood, a sword in his chest.

And now Tybalt's lungs began working again. Breaths came- ragged, desperate breaths- faster and faster until they became sobs. He stumbled to a stop in a dark alleyway. Thoughts, sounds, memories bombarded his mind and the sobs turned to anguished screams.

Why?

_Why?_

—

Mercutio lay on a low table in the second room. Someone had bandaged his wound, but already the cloth was soaked red. Sweat glittered on his forehead and his body shook with shallow, short gasps. His wandering eyes settled on Tybalt in the doorway, but there was no sign of recognition.

"Ben... Benvolio?"

Red shone on his lips from the effort of speaking. Tybalt stepped closer, pulled himself onto the table, and cradled Mercutio's head in his arms.

"Benvolio... Find my... Get Tybalt. I need to... to tell him..." He paused, tried to laugh.

"I'm here, Mercutio."

Mercutio smiled, a broken, defeated shadow of his usual smirk.

"Ah... My Prince of Cats. I have cursed your house."

"I take your curse unto myself."

"You- you will bear it?"

"If am killed, there will be but one one dead who is willing to be so."

"We may yet... meet again, then."

Those words broke Tybalt's carefully built facade and fought to breathe normally as his chest tightened.

"Mercutio- I- I never- you didn't..."

Unable to find the words, Tybalt cut himself off and poured his emotion into a kiss. They broke away and Mercutio nodded slightly, acknowledging the unspoken words. His breathing, though still ragged, had slowed considerably and his usually tan skin was faded like sun-bleached parchment.

"Oh, God..." Mercutio tried another pained laugh, "This really is it, then?"

The lump in his throat was painful now, his eyes burned, his heart ached, everything _hurt_.

"Mercutio." Lord, could one word cause any more pain? And why was he unable to say anything else?

"Tybalt.

He had to say  _something_.

"I never meant you any harm."

"I know. Nor did I."

"I... I loved you."

"I know. As did I."

Another kiss. Slow, a silent, lingering goodbye. The metallic taste of blood and then salt. An embrace. The sound of Mercutio's heart beating slower and slower. The deafening silence when it stopped and his warmth faded and he smelled more of blood than anything else and salt tears washed away what little taste of him remained on Tybalt's lips and he was still, and he was cold, and he was _pale_ and  _gone_ and _it was all Tybalt's fault._


End file.
